For Ray Stantz, Sunday was one of the pinnacles of his young life. He and Egon worked side-by-side from early morning, finishing the prototype EDG and ensuring that it would be ready for its official testing on Monday. Butterflies filled his stomach whenever he thought of the eminent specialists who would grace this little lab come the morrow, parapsychologists and occultists from all over the Tri-State area: Dr. Ernst Stubbs, Alfred Wittington, and more - men Ray had only dreamed about meeting much less working with in even his humble technician capacity. And working in association with Ray's primary hero, Dr. Egon Spengler himself...?! Fair brimming with unsuppressible excitement, Ray plunged happily into his work and by late afternoon the fully designed Extra- Dimensional Gauge lay on its stand, assembled and awaiting only to be powered up.

Egon straightened from the half-crouch he'd maintained for hours, mouth twisted with discomfort but sapphire eyes shining with pleasure. "That does it," he rumbled, jabbing at the small of his back. "Once we attach the auxiliary power cord, the EDG will be completed."

Ray grinned at him, clenching his jaw to keep from laughing out loud with sheer delight, the sense of a dramatic moment dawning too strong to be spoiled by mirth. "Can we try it out now?" he asked breathlessly, hoping against hope. "I mean, we could test it out ahead of time - make sure it works before all those scientists get here tomorrow?"

Egon speculatively stroked his chin with one long finger, and it was plain he was giving the bid careful consideration. Then he sighed and shook his head. "I don't think that would be wise," he said regretfully. "My last two designs melted into a puddle at the first application of power. I didn't even have a remnant to autopsy. I think it would be best if we let Dr. Stubbs and the rest examine the unit before switching it on."

Ray's worry must have shown on his face, for Egon smiled and clapped him heartily on the shoulder. "If you're worried about the possibility of my failing in front of experts," he began, divining Ray's thoughts exactly, "then put it out of your mind, Raymond. The men I've invited are old colleagues in some form or another, and will find a failure precisely as illuminating as a success - though hardly as illustrious," he added with innate honesty. He glanced at his watch. "Four o'clock. I'd better start preparing for this evening. Peter painted himself into a corner and asked me to help him out."

"Some corner," Ray jeered with a boldness that hadn't been there mere months earlier; somehow, though, with this man he felt comfortable enough even to offer this gentle teasing. "All you have to do is take out one of Peter's girls. I wish I had such corners - Peter's dates are always beautiful and I've never been to one of his parties."

Egon waggled one blond brow suggestively. "Are you suggesting that my doing Peter this favor is anything but a duty?" he accused with mock severity. "You don't think I'm actually going to be enjoying myself?" Ray maintained his knowing silence and Egon grinned. "Perhaps slightly. Actually, it's not a party I'd feel comfortable taking you to - it'll probably be another one of Venkman's get-high parties."

Ray gasped, startled by the concept. "You do drugs?" he exclaimed before he could stop himself. "I know Peter smokes marijuana sometimes but I didn't think...!"

"I do not take drugs," Egon corrected firmly, drawing his lips into a disapproving line. "One must protect one's thinking capacity against such frivolous perils." He relaxed suddenly, looking boyishly sheepish. "Of course, a man takes his relaxations where he can, and even Peter Venkman can be useful in that capacity."

Ray tilted his head, regarding the older man curiously. "Why do you hate Peter?" he asked, voicing a puzzle that had bothered him for months. "Did he ... do something to you?"

Spengler, in the process of doffing his labcoat, turned, a surprised expression on his face. "What makes you think I dislike Peter Venkman?"

Ray bit his lip, already regretting the personal question. But Egon was staring at him expectantly and there was nothing for it now but to explain. "I ... well, I noticed how you and he ... insult each other all the time."

"Many people trade banter," Egon pointed out mildly. "It doesn't mean they hate each other."

Ray waved that away as obvious. "It's not just that. It's ... it's things like ... when...." He racked his mind, searching for some example to explain the subliminal tensions he always felt between the two men, the wary sense of waiting and watching, like two predator cats on the prowl. He suspected there was more to it as well, though except for a few minor jokes he'd been privy to, he'd actually witnessed nothing between the two to confirm his suspicions. He ended up shrugging apologetically, helpless to put his thoughts into words. "I guess I'm wrong," he mumbled in some confusion, snatching up the auxiliary power cord from the box under the window. He plugged it into the EDG, nearly missing the connection in his embarrassed haste. "Sorry. This is ready to go now."

He started as the large hand descended on his shoulder, and looked up into quizzical blue eyes. "It's not as if I hate Peter," Egon admitted thoughtfully, his gaze focused beyond Ray's inquisitive face. "As a matter of fact, I don't even dislike him." There was a touch of cryptic revelation in his expression, as though he were just discovering a previously unsuspected truth. This did nothing but confuse Ray all the more, though this time he held his peace, allowing Spengler to finish with, "Peter and I simply inter-relate on unique levels."

"Oh." Well, that was clear ... like mud.

Egon continued to stand pensively for a moment, his hand resting lightly on Ray's shoulder. Then the planed face cleared and Egon was really looking at Ray again. "Peter's parties aren't nearly as interesting as some of New York's other attractions," the blond said a prapos of nothing. "As a matter of fact, I managed to procure two admissions to next Saturday's symphony at the convention center. Would you like to use one of them?"

It was Ray's turn to stare then, an elated warmth melting away the previous discomfort. Egon Spengler asking him along?! He opened his mouth to accept with pleasure then stopped, remembering in time that a free ticket wasn't the only expense associated with a night at the symphony. It cost money for tuxedos, dinner and the like - money he wouldn't have for a long time to come. He shook his head, the gratitude still lighting his face and heart. "Thanks, Egon, but I can't make it."

Spengler pierced him with a look, those crystal blue eyes seeming to peer into Ray's very soul. He made to speak then changed his mind and settled for clapping Ray on the back instead. "Next time then," he promised. "I'm certain you'll enjoy it far more than one of Peter's revels.

"Speaking of whom," Egon hung his coat neatly on its hook and picked up his sports jacket. "Peter is coming by at six and it's going to take me that long to get dressed. You don't mind cleaning up for our 'company' by yourself?"

Ray smiled, his joy re-blossoming at mention of the distinguished visitors due the next morn. "I don't mind. It'll only take me a few minutes. I'll be out of here before three-thirty."

"Very good. Lock up when you leave." Spengler paused at the door, turning to meet Ray's questioning look frankly. "You did very well, Raymond. I'm pleased with your work."

With this, he nodded solemnly and departed, leaving Ray to finish up with a light step and a very full heart.

By later that evening, Ray's joy had managed to transform itself into the worry Egon had not quite banished earlier. He paced his little dorm room worriedly, his ready imagination conjuring a vast array of disastrous scenarios that could conceivably overtake them the next morning. After having tried twice to turn in for the night, he finally gave up and scrambled into his jeans, having decided to return to the lab and conduct a final check on the EDG's circuits. If nothing else, he could run a low- level current through each component and test them individually for failure. According to Egon, who ought to know, so long as he didn't use full power, there would be no danger of the EDG either switching on or melting down before they were ready.

It was a short walk to the lab, which Ray made absently, his mind focused on the buffer he'd need to regulate the charge. Ten minutes work and he could proceed with his analysis and make sure that everything was ready for Egon's premier the next day.

Reaching Weaver Hall before the cool air had had a chance to properly penetrate his black cotton pullover, Ray used his key and let himself into the building, then made his way to the third floor. He didn't bother with overheads; by now he knew the way intimately and could have walked the route in his sleep. The dim light penetrating from the frosted doors on his either side gave the hall an eerie aspect, but the silent lab beckoned Ray on, its siren song eliciting harmonious reverberations in his soul. This was the life he was meant for, he told himself happily. Research and creation - the staples of existence itself! Was there anything else a man could ask for?

Switching on the lights, Ray got to work immediately, wiring in a basic regulator to the EDG and testing it carefully to ensure that Egon's device could not accidentally switch on. Intent upon his task, he had no opportunity to check the space under the mobile stand holding the EDG, nor reason to believe that he should have done so.

Ray raised his head at the soft chiming just audible through the window. Ten o'clock. Egon and Peter should be at their party by now, probably enjoying themselves hugely. He sighed wistfully, wondering if the time would ever come when he would be invited along on one of the Peter's ventures. Maybe if he was older or less of a - Ray did not shy from the word though it made him cringe - wallflower, Peter would ask him along too. Or maybe not. Ray shook his head, disparaging himself with the thought that there never would be a time when he would have something to contribute to one of Peter's functions. He contented himself with the memory of Egon's proposition of that afternoon and the particular joy the older man's praise had brought to his spirit.

There. The regulator was done and hooked into the EDG. He stood back, surveying his work proudly. Now only a minor current would feed into the system, just enough to let him test for power in each component. Heart beating with a new wave of excitement, he picked up a voltameter and switched the EDG on.

There was no warning - no preshadowing to warn him of impending trouble. The first Ray knew that something was wrong was a brilliant flash followed by the loud BANG! that nearly ruptured his eardrums. The explosion came from low, from ... the EDG! Thick clouds of smoke gushed from beneath the unit, quickly filling the room with an acrid, nauseating stench. Bile rising in his throat to meet the dread already constricting his heart, Ray scurried backwards, raising a hand in a vain attempt at shielding his face. The smoke was cloying, like heavy petroleum, burning his eyes, nose and throat and sapping the oxygen from the air.

Panicked, Ray reeled backwards, his first thought that to escape the room before he choked. He took one step and stopped, remembering in time the EDG. All of Egon's work - his reputation! - was tied up in that single, delicate unit. Whatever happened, he had to unplug it before irreparable harm could be done! Ray could see nothing in the dense atmosphere, so he dropped to his knees, proceeding by touch alone. He coughed harshly, dimly aware that he should get out of the room immediately - it was impossible to breathe and his chest was beginning to hurt. But Egon's EDG had priority - unplugging it offered the only hope he had of preventing all of Egon's work from going up in flames.

After over a minute's search he located the auxiliary power cord, tracing it with his fingers to the wall plug. Offering a little prayer of thanks, he wrapped his fingers around it prepared to tug it free, unable in the dark to make out the exposed copper wiring peeking through what would later be diagnosed as the unfortunate gnawings of a little gray mouse.

Lightning shot into Ray's hand, a liquid fire that traced every nerve ending upward, searing a path from his arm into his chest. Ray's body convulsed suddenly, the low scream that forced itself between his lips cutting off suddenly as his throat squeezed shut. The agony endured for what seemed like hours but was in reality only seconds before the main circuit breakers cut in, shutting off power for over half the building. What have I done? Ray thought, horrified. Then he was aware only of the sudden cessation of both cognizance and pain as the world stopped.

***

Peter picked up a properly-dressed Egon promptly at six, in the company of two exquisitely beautiful women. Both were stewardesses Peter had met on one of his infrequent trips to Chicago to visit his mother and her family, and with whom Peter had kept in sporadic touch over the years. Brigette, a cool brunette of thirty, was tall and slim, with smooth, shoulder length hair and the type of eyes that had been described in literature throughout the ages as 'bedroom.' She accepted Egon's arm with a sultry smile, and if his gaze traveled more than once the length of her gracefully draped black dress, no one blamed him in the slightest.

Peter's date, Holly, was Brigette's opposite-but-equal in every way. Shorter than her friend and as fair as Egon, she filled her tight slacks and halter top in ways that could not help but elevate a man's hormone levels. Full busted and wide-hipped, Holly's effervescent personality seemed to dip whatever room she was in with liquid sunshine.

Dinner was filled with pleasant if one sided chit-chat at first, punctuated occasionally by Egon's distrustful glances from Brigette to Peter, as if he were still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Peter beamed innocuously back and soon Egon began to relax and join in, his dry wit adding a facet of humor to the conversation that had been missing previously.

In this way the quartet approached the building housing the Phi Kappa Nu fraternity, the elegant females and handsome men causing no little stir in the already gathered company. Egon scanned the buffet suspiciously, surprised to find that the notorious "Tri Cuppa Brew" fraternity was hosting nothing more menacing than a traditional wine-and-cheese party. He was also comforted - and not a little bit pleased - by Brigette's curt denial of anything having to do with drugs or pot. As neither she nor Holly indulged in anything more potent than the unopened red wine chilling in the icebucket, and Peter had proclaimed himself 'clean' for the evening, Egon relaxed even further, accepting the goblet his date proffered and falling into the swing of the party atmosphere with real enjoyment.

Peter watched him through occasionally narrowed eyes whenever Egon was not looking. His purpose to muddle the blond's perceptions had not altered, necessary as it was for the fulfillment of his grand plan. He'd deliberately chosen Brigette as Egon's consort for the evening; it was evidenced that she did not use narcotics; what Peter did not mention was that he'd been out drinking with Brigette on several occasions and the woman's capacity for alcohol fair rivaled a Welshman's. Once, when they had been doing shots for several hours, she had had to practically carry the comatose Peter home and roll him into his bed; she'd then returned to the party and continued drinking until the next morning, afterwards showing no more adverse effects than a mild headache and a bad case of thirst.

Egon, being the gentleman he was, would not refuse to share a glass with a beautiful woman and that in itself was to be his undoing. Peter snickered as he watched Egon uncork the first bottle and pour Brigette a drink. "By midnight," he remarked to Chuck as an aside, "the big blond geek won't care if he's got an EDG much less whether the blasted thing works!"

Nine o'clock found Peter in a corner with Chuck Weaver and his steady, Rhoda, their conversation centered around Rhoda's upcoming graduation and her and Chuck's plans for the summer.

"... since I'm from Boston anyway," the petite brunette was saying, leaning comfortably against the wall. "That way Chuck can still come up on weekends even if he's working nights."

"Might be nights and weekends," Weaver said, popping the top of a Miller. "Don't know how we're going to spend any time together come summer."

"There's a lot to be said for long vacations," Peter remarked, smiling when Holly slipped quietly up beside him. "Find the bathroom okay, babe?"

She nodded, and poked playfully tickled his ribs through his open shirt. "Had to go through an obstacle course to get there. I'd forgotten how obnoxious college students could be."

"That's what you get for maturing," Peter murmured, getting a giggle and another poke for his trouble.

"That's what Brigette always says," Holly returned, taking Peter's scotch out of his hand and taking a sip. "Doesn't stop either one of us from attending these stupid things."

Peter opened his mouth to point out several more reasons why Holly might attend one of these frat parties, his own looks and charm at the top of the list, when a small hand poked him in the side. He turned, finding himself on a level with a pair of clear blue eyes peeking out from under a fringe of straight blonde hair. "Hi, Sandy," he hailed the student, the thought that she wouldn't be his student much longer adding an extra degree of warmth to the greeting. "Didn't know you were going to be here tonight."

Sandy tossed a long strand of hair back over her shoulder. "I hadn't planned to come - had to break a date to make it. I was hoping to see you here, though."

Standing at Peter's right, Holly cleared her throat loudly, and Peter hastened to make the introduction. "Holly, this is Sandy Monroe. Sandy is one of my students." Oil on the waters, Peter thought smugly.

The women nodded, though the look they exchanged was that of two hyenas meeting over a kill. "Can I talk to you a minute, Pete?" Sandy asked, ignoring Holly after that brief contact. "It's important."

Peter heard the soft hiss of Holly's breath being sucked through her teeth and nearly refused; after all, Sandy was scheduled for some distant future rendezvous whereas Holly was of the here and now. Then he looked into Sandy's face, not finding the flirtation he'd expected but rather a curious worry. He nodded. "I'll only be a minute," he told Holly, forcing himself to ignore the ire in her eyes.

He allowed Sandy to lead him several feet away, her face downcast and thoughtful. "Listen, Pete, sorry about your date. I just...."

"'S'okay," he assured her, feeling Holly's eyes boring into the small of his back. "What's on your mind?"

She hesitated, biting her full lower lip. When she looked up Peter got the impression that she was taking some kind of a plunge. "I took a nap this evening," she said softly. "I dreamed about you."

Peter cleared his throat, the erotic fantasies she'd revealed during their sessions bringing color to his cheeks, the more so considering Holly's proximity. "That's ... uh ... really great," he began uncomfortably, "but...."

Sandy rolled her eyes, her expression going from worry to annoyance in an instant. "Not that kind of a dream," she snapped, stamping her foot. "The other kind."

Peter blanked, then his eyes widened in astonishment. "You mean a...?"

"Psionic dream? Maybe." Blue eyes bored into Peter's own, demanding belief. "It wasn't all that clear," she began in a hesitant voice. "I saw you ... then I didn't see you but I knew it had something to do with you. Then I saw a man wandering in a cloud but I couldn't tell where it was."

"That's not exactly an earth shaking revelation," Peter returned, raising his glass to his lips. "I mean, esper or not, a man walking in a cloud isn't the most dangerous thing I've ever heard."

Sandy hesitated again, her very reticence raising the hackles on Peter's neck. "It wasn't so much that, that scared me," she went on in a low voice. "It was just ... that the cloud ... hurt ... or something. At least, I didn't like it." Peter froze, not retreating when she stepped closer and laid a small hand on his arm. "It might be nothing - probably is nothing, but I wanted you to know."

He patted her hand absently, his brows bisected by only a thin line. "Thanks, Sandy, I'll keep it in mind."

She nodded doubtfully and headed for the bar, leaving Peter to stare at her retreating back. The scenario she'd painted was a familiar one, one that had kept Peter amused for nearly a full week. Egon wrapped in a smelly black cloud was precisely what Peter did have in store for the unsuspecting physicist and that for the morrow, possibly Peter's masterpiece in their two-man battle of wits.

But what had Sandy meant when she said the cloud hurt? The smoke bomb was only dangerous if someone remained in the enclosed room for long periods, and even a fool would be forced to vacate within seconds if only by the nauseating stench of Jefferson's chemical. Was there anything about his forthcoming jest that could hurt?

Besides.... The cloud symbolism was a common one in the dream state, and represented a variety of aspirations and desires to any one individual, most often that of something little understood or unobtainable. Sandy had been a test subject with the sleep research team for many months now, and this had hardly been the first time she'd dreamed about Peter Venkman. Undoubtedly this was simply another example of the girl's interest in him as a man.

Peter returned to his glowering date but only half his mind was on the lame explanation he offered her for his seeming desertion. Sandy's warning nagged at him consistently, the coincidence too large to ignore completely. A cloud could represent anything in Sandy's subconscious. Yet, Sandy had confessed some leaning toward esper abilities. Then again, Peter wasn't sure he even believed in esper abilities, especially after that little experience with Janice Smithers.

The cloud hurt, Sandy had said; that could mean anything, from a bee sting to near death. Peter shuddered, already ruing the cleverness which had made him set up the smoke bomb in the lab, not even aware that he was giving Sandy's warning more credence than it actually warranted. What if something went wrong? was the cry that echoed within his skull. What if the substance Jefferson had injected into the mechanism reacted chemically with the smoke? What if something happened to Egon because of it? And not just Egon - Sandy had said she'd seen a man in the cloud; what if that man was Ray? Or someone else?

Peter sighed heavily, abandoning his great joke with honest disappointment. Better get over to the lab and disconnect the blasted thing or he'd end up worrying himself into a nervous wreck. Some instinct reared its head then, urging Peter to make sure Ray was home at least.

"Got to make a phone call," he mumbled, interrupting Chuck's recitation on the glories of Texas in the spring. "Be right back." He ignored Holly's renewed glare and found the frat phone, dialing the number of Ray's dorm from memory. It was picked up by a sleepy-sounding male, who volunteered after much urging and one serious threat, to knock on Ray's door and get him downstairs.

Peter tapped his foot impatiently while he waited, downing the entire glass of scotch in one gulp. Finally, the sleepy student returned to the line.

"No one's there," he grumbled nastily. "You wanna leave a message or something?"

Peter breathed a negative and hung up, chill fingers stroking his spine. Ray could be anywhere, he told himself, visiting friends - even in the shower. The fact that he wasn't in his room on a Sunday night meant nothing at all....

Peter returned to the corner and took Holly by the shoulders. "Got to make a run," he told her regretfully. "I'll be back in about an hour."

Holly shrugged away from his touch; she stood back to regard him balefully. "You could have just invited her instead of me in the first place," she shot coldly, "and saved me the trouble of showing up at all."

Peter opened his hands wide in a placating gesture he knew wouldn't work even before he made it. "Don't be like that, babe," he pleaded. "It's business. Honest."

"Yeah. Business," Holly snapped, deliberately turning her back.

Peter sighed and let his hands fall to his sides. "Catch you on the rebound," he told Chuck, turning on his heel.

Peter headed for the door, literally running into Egon and Brigette en route. The two were holding newly filled wine glasses, and Egon's eyes were just starting to dull behind his frames. Peter automatically glanced at his watch - ten o'clock. Looks like his prediction of a sloshed Egon by midnight was right on the money.

"Going somewhere, Peter?" the blond asked, placing a hand on Venkman's arm as he passed. "Is something wrong?"

Peter stopped, an impulse he would never afterward be able to explain drawing his eyes to the blue ones three inches above. "If Ray isn't in his dorm tonight, then where would he most likely have gone?"

Egon frowned at the seeming non sequitur, one lean shoulder twitching. "Probably back to the lab. He's been excited over the EDG test and might have wanted to repeat some of this afternoon's checks. Why do you ask?"

Peter braced his shoulders, his jaw jutting truculently but his voice without challenge. "I may need you," he said, shocking himself with his honestly. "Come with me."

He waited, prepared for the refusal, and was surprised when Egon immediately unwrapped Brigette's arm from his own and gave her a pat. "I'll be back soon," the blond said, handing his glass across. "Keep this on ice for me."

She smiled but made no reply. Knowing Brigette, Peter thought wickedly, she probably wouldn't notice they'd left at all so long as there was a steady liquor supply at hand.

The two men emerged from the frat house, Egon content to allow Peter to set the rapid pace. "Would you like to tell me where we're going?" he asked, his jacket flapping behind him in the light breeze. "I generally require a reason for leaving a beautiful woman before I walk out on her."

Peter, already starting to puff slightly nevertheless hastened his pace, shivering slightly in the cooling air. "Possibility that there's trouble at the lab. If Ray went back there he might be in over his head."

Egon skidded to a halt, the full moon revealing an almost ludicrous expression of befuddlement. "Trouble at my lab?" he demanded, snagging Peter's white sleeve. "What kind of trouble? What happened to Ray?"

Peter yanked himself free, fighting the urge to answer that imperious request for information. Even Egon might not accept the warning as such, and Peter preferred to make sure any danger was dealt with before facing the embarrassment he knew was coming. "I'll explain later," he bellowed, shoving hard. "Just come on!"

Something in Peter's face must have convinced the blond, for Egon's protests died away immediately. Shoulder to shoulder the two men thundered across the silent campus on a journey toward the unknown.

***